"Yas, Missy," said Estralla, her big eyes fixed on the little white girl
in the pretty bed who was smiling at her in so friendly a fashion. She
took a step or two forward, her eyes still fixed on Sylvia, and not
noticing the little footstool directly in front of her, over which she
stumbled with a loud crash, breaking the pitcher and sending the hot
water over her bare feet.

"Oh, Mammy! Mammy! Mammy!" she screamed, lying face downward on the
floor with the overturned footstool and broken pitcher, while the
steaming water soaked through the cotton dress.

In a moment Sylvia was out of bed.

"Get up, Estralla," she commanded, "and stop screaming."

The little darky's wails ceased, and she looked up at the slender white
figure standing in front of her.

"I kyan't git up; I'se all scalded and cut," she sobbed, "an' if I does
get up I'se gwine to get whipped for breaking the pitcher," and at the
thought of new trouble in store for her, she began to scream again.

"Get up this minute," said Sylvia. "I don't believe the water was hot
enough to scald you; it never is really hot. Here, help me sop it up,"
and grabbing her bath towel Sylvia began to mop up the little stream of
water which was trickling across the floor.

Estralla managed to get to her feet. She was still holding fast to the
handle of the broken pitcher. The front of her cotton dress was soaked,